Betrayed Expectations
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: This affair is not what it seems. PP/NL. Post-war.


The rain pours in sleek sheets of water, hammering against the roof and the window pain. Small droplets of the cold rain fly through the open window to splatter the dark-haired witch sat on the windowsill. The witch smokes a muggle cigarette, the long white shaft contrasting against her dark, short-cropped hair. She pulls on the cig and lets out a small puff of white smoke which immediately disintegrates in the cool breeze. Her lips purse over the end once again and the other end flares slightly, a dancing, yellow spot in the blackness of the window.

"Pansy, you'll get wet."

She doesn't answer the sleepy male voice drifting to her from the bed. She knows she will get wet, but the cold water, its sting on her skin, makes it easier to think and to relax. She fights the cold and hot waves of adrenaline that wash over her, long lashes flutter down over large chestnut eyes only to come flickering back up the next moment. Beneath her cloak she can feel the silver locket pressing against her skin. Inside it are the minimized pieces of parchment she had come for.

There is only one thing she had really come for that night.

A moment later, arms wrap around her waist and lips find her neck. "Are you trying to get sick?" he asks and there is a laughable note of concern in his voice.

"I don't catch cold easily," she murmurs and tilts her head up to kiss him. His lips are plump and pliant beneath hers. He rubs the base of her neck as the other hand finds her thigh and slides up it until it is under her robes and feeling around the edges of her panties.  
>"You shouldn't be smoking."<p>

"You're bossy and boring," she shoots back in a mild and amiable tone. Nevertheless, she puts out the cigarette and lets him carry her back to the bed. The wind whistles through the trees and the planks of the treehouse across from the window. Pansy knows, as she watches the single burning candle on the nightstand that it is better to be like this – just a little submissive. He likes to think that he takes care of her. Herbologists have that character flaw and Neville Longbottom is no different. There is a reason why he is leaving the Auror office to become a teacher – it suits his nurturing nature far better.

When she had first approached Neville as a rape victim – she had told them no so many times it hurt, but they convinced her that this was the only sure way – he had instantly gotten that soft look in his eyes. Unlike Potter or Weasley who would be impenetrable, unable to forget what she had done and thought and felt during the war, Neville still wanted to care. Longbottom championed her case. He never found anything, of course, but they had gotten closer and soon it was only too easy to convince him of her reformation, of her remorse. The rest was only a matter of time, timing and alcohol.

Acting had always been a strong suit of hers. It had been harder back then, during the war. It had been harder when she had been a virgin. But she isn't a virgin anymore and, as it turns out, the much celebrated Neville Longbottom isn't a God. She should have known, really, but obviously his expectations weren't the only ones not fated to be met.

Neville is kissing her again and she lies back and allows him to trace her collar bone and neck with his lips, memorize her shoulders and her cleavage line. The sweat on his body from their love making has dried in the half hour that he'd slept like a dead man and she'd worked and smoked. But his hands are still very warm and they feel good against her chilled skin.

Pansy closes her eyes and lets her head drop back against the pillow. Thoughts mix in her head – "how silly that he didn't realize that I was not a virgin before my 'rape'", "Hannah has left Ernie. He thinks it's because of Neville, poor thing", "I wonder if the border will be crowded", "Draco has selected a trophy wife – how Malfoy of him", "I wonder if Neville needed me at first to make sure no one thought he was a home wrecker" – and she is almost oblivious to his caresses.

The soft chiming of the clock in the far corner of the room brings Pansy back to her senses. She has to leave now just to be safe. "I have to go." She untangles herself from Neville, letting a hand slide down his torso. She sees it plainly now as she looks into his open face. He is no god – just the same Lumpy Longbottom he had always been. Well she was certainly no virgin and no innocent damsel in distress – he would see that soon enough.

"Can you not stay tonight?" Neville asks. His voice is still thick from sleep.

"No, I have some things to do early tomorrow morning." She leans in and kisses him.

"You were quiet tonight." He gives her a keen look and she reaches down for her clothes as to not meet his eyes. He has not tried to legilimence her in a long time but she's not taking any chances.

"I've had a lot of thinking to do about what I want to do with my life." It's not even a lie – with all the money she will get for this, there will be numerous options.

"I thought you said—"

"Hush, it's nothing." She smiles sweetly at him, puts on her heals and walks to the door.

Neville jumps up to show her to the door. She shakes her head. "Stay. You should sleep. I've worn you out."

His smile becomes lopsided. "You have. Goodnight."

She smiles and walks out, makes her way through the front door and apparates.

It's only a single jump to the border, then a portkey to Berlin. As she makes the last jump she clutches fiercely at her silver locket as though afraid of losing its contents now that she's so close. Once she's over the border, the adrenaline begins to drain. Two hours later they come and take Neville's precious parchments from her, carrying away a few state secrets of the British Auror Office with them. Gold has changed hands, the contract it up.

Pansy heads to her apartment on foot. She smokes.

"Goodbye, Neville," she murmurs, putting out the cig and unlocking her front door. "And thank you. Fooling you was easier than I thought it would be."


End file.
